


In Between Days

by jade_maiden_333



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, scrambled eggs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 17:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12846366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jade_maiden_333/pseuds/jade_maiden_333
Summary: I was listening to The Cure. This happened.





	In Between Days

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to The Cure. This happened.

“Do you love me?”

Dean’s forkful of scrambled eggs freezes midway between the plate and his mouth. He scowls at Cas and for a moment thinks that he must have misheard, but Cas is nothing if not well modulated. He stalls, hoping that the other man’s face will break into a uncharacteristic grin and he’ll admit that he was pulling his leg. Just kidding, Dean. Please pass the ketchup.

But Cas is looking at him with a face that Dean now understands is what people mean when they use the word earnest. Cas is not kidding, and he feels dizzy and closed in. Like someone has pulled the chair out from under him.

“Come again?”

“I asked if you loved me. You’ve said that I’m family. You’ve said that you care about me,” Cas leans forward as if he thinks that Dean truly didn’t hear him, his elbows framing his untouched breakfast plate. “So, does that mean that you love me?”

“Jesus Cas, what is this, an episode of The Bachelor?” Dean looks warily around the diner, but the other patrons are either fully engrossed in their meals or their own conversations. He pops the forkful of eggs into his mouth, chewing for more time. Cas waits patiently, damned him. Dean gulps molten coffee from his mug, swallows past the burn. Glaring, he wipes unnecessarily at the corners of his mouth with a crumpled paper napkin. “What’s with you this morning?”

“I love you.”

“Your food’s getting cold.”

“I love you.”

“Are you going to eat that bacon?

“I love--”

“God damn it, Cas. I love you too, okay?” he shouts. Heads are turning and Dean imagines he hears the sound of a phonograph needle being scratched from an old album as the diner grows conspicuously quiet. Over Cas’ left shoulder, Dean sees a waitress at the next table. She stares back, her carafe of coffee suspended mid-pour. She watches him long enough to deliver a wry grin. The waitress then winks at him, one false eyelash bowing and dipping like the wing of a pterodactyl. Cas fidgets in his seat and Dean now notices that he’s grinning too. 

He feels his face redden. His sense of history tells him that he should be embarrassed, at the very least, keenly self-conscious. I’m a dumbass, he tells himself. But he looks at Cas and he looks happy. No, more than that. Dean searches his mind for a better word. Cas looks resplendent. And the thudding in Dean’s chest isn’t like how he feels all those times that he’s stuck in his foot in his mouth. His heart feels different. More like a weight has been lifted from it. Not a dumbass. He feels ...unburdened. 

Less dumb. Less ass.

The sense of time passing resumes. The buzz of diner conversation has started up again, and amid the clatter of plates and forks, of tabletops and coffee cups, Dean can feel his heart slip back into an easy rhythm. The clouds did not part, God does not unleash furious vengeance on Dean for all of his misdeeds. The ground does not break open and Dean is not swallowed in a hellish chasm in which payment is exacted for his iniquities. People eat, and Cas smiles.

Cas examines his plate, scoops up all of the bacon and piles it onto Dean’s plate. They hold each other's gaze. After a time, Dean picks up his fork, dives back into his breakfast. When he’s sure that his eyes have lost their watery sting, and when he’s certain that his voice won’t betray him, he nods at the bottles of condiments neatly pushed up against the wall at the far end of the table.

“Cas, pass the ketchup, will ya?”


End file.
